His Smile
by liondancer17
Summary: In which the respectable, traditional, twenty-nine year old Nick Carraway comes to terms with the fact that he has fallen in love with another man-another man who is in love with his cousin, no less. Eventual slash.
1. Chapter 1

A/N

So I just finished _The Great Gatsby_ today. By the end, I was nearly crying. I love Jay so much, I swear. He is just like me. The only differences are that he's rich, thirty, and a man. The most heartbreaking part is that I know, without a doubt, that I would go as far and work as hard as he for the one I love. It's inevitable, a simple truth. And that is so heartbreaking.

On a lighter note, was I the only one who simply felt the sexual tension between Nick and Gatsby? I mean, really, the line with the smile was simply too much. Nick simply loves Gatsby-that's that.

This opens up a new, more interesting aspect of their relationship. This takes place during the Jazz Age, after all. Homosexuality is still taboo, if not unheard of. Both men are in the public eye-especially Gatsby-and Nick is a respectable gentleman. How could I not seize this opportunity and explore it? So, I shall. The story opens up just as Gatsby and Daisy are reunited, at the end of Chapter Five.

Disclaimer: I can only wish to reach the emotional depths of the Great Gatsby.

* * *

(Nick Carraway's POV)

_They had forgotten me, but Daisy glanced up and held out her hand; Gatsby didn't knew me at all. I looked once at them and they looked at me, possessed by intense life. Then I went out of the room and down the marble steps, leaving them together._

It was rude of him-if I was to be quite honest with myself-to abandon me like that. The nerve of Gatsby to simply forget me in favor of my cousin! _I, _after all, had been the one to bring them together! If Daisy had been invited by Gatsby, then she surely would have said no, and they would not be here now! The _nerve, _the blatant, pure _nerve _of him-!

Sighing, I brought a hand to my face, and smoothed the dark locks of hair that had fallen in my eyes during my silent tirade. I was being unfair to my friend, which was a thing I should be ashamed of. Jordan had explained this to me the night before, so I _myself _should be ashamed of my inexcusable behavior. How selfish was I to demand pure and undivided attention to my neighbor-who I had only known for just a few days-when he had loved my cousin so deeply and purely for five years, and needed a chance to be with her once more? No, in this situation, _I _was the one with such a nerve, for _I _was the one who wanted my friend to be only devoted to me, when _he _had been devoted to my dear cousin for so, so long.

I stood on the front lawn of the Great Jay Gatsby, shoving my hands into my pockets and staring at my car. How modest it looked compared to Gatsby's! Surely, I must have looked quite the same when standing side-by-side with Gatsby himself. Gatsby: who shone white and brilliant and golden and green; next to I, who was simple, modest, and middle-class. We must have looked funny to Meyer Wolfsheim yesterday. Perhaps that is why he called Gatsby so generous. To be seen with his modest neighbor would surely have been an insult to Gatsby's already questionable image. I felt a pang-jealousy, I decided-when I thought of this. It was ridiculous, to be honest. Simply ridiculous. I did not feel envy for my neighbor. His lifestyle was immoral, and his dreams were childish and unattainable. He knew my cousin was married, and will soon find out that she has a child. I should look down upon my neighbor.

Yet, I did not.

Perhaps it was his smile.

That smile, the most reassuring-and perhaps beautiful-smile in the world. The smile that entrances one from the moment it dawns, to the moment the edges crumble and the smile fades. The smile that reassures that you _matter, _that the world revolves around you for one single moment, that you are the center of their universe, and that they will do nothing but be captivated by you for that one, simple moment.

That was the smile that I liked, the one I wished that I could bring to his face once more. It was out of pure gratitude, I supposed. Gatsby had shown me nothing but kindness and hospitality, taking me to meet his friends and offering a slew of favors in return for asking my cousin for tea. I had assured him that it was a simple favor-a king gesture-but I would still, perhaps, accept those favors, if only for the chance that I may make him smile like that again.

Daisy, though, made him give that smile.

I had seen it, not only in his lips, but in his eyes. _She _was his entire world, his entire universe. There was nothing but _her _for him. Nothing but that endless green light, nothing but that simple, unquenchable longing...

My chest tightened-in sympathy. After all, I knew that she was long gone to him. She was married, and a mother. She would see nothing in him but a simple escape, a fleeting pleasure. My cousin, though beautiful, was a fool. She did not see the look in his eyes when he gazed upon her. She did not see the endless love, the way that the universe shifted to her. She did not love him as he loved her. She never could.

And yet, she was able to make that smile appear on his face.

_'I would give anything to make him smile like that again.' _

The thought drifted briefly into my mind, and I shook my head, as if to set it free, then I realized how foolish I was being. Of course I would have such desires for him. He was my friend! I desire his happiness, his smile, for he is one I care about. He has shown me kindness and compassion, and his intentions are of the purest kind, so of course I should feel desire for his happiness! It would be cruel and selfish to think otherwise!

With my thoughts in order, I turned and headed back to the house, my cheeks oddly aflame. Though I could not place why, I felt as if the unnerving eyes of T.J. Eckelburg were upon me, despite the fact that the Valley of Ashes was far gone. Why should I feel as if I am being judged? I did nothing wrong, nothing whatsoever. Bringing my married cousin and Gatsby together was nothing more than a favor for my friend. They would not work out, anyway. I knew they wouldn't.

I couldn't let it work out.

For she was married, and that was cruel to my dear third-cousin Pammie.

When I had returned to Gatsby's door, Daisy was upon his arm, smiling up at him as he gazed back at her, giving that breathtaking smile. I stood beside them, blinking in surprise. Just moments after I had been thinking of that smile, there it was, directed at Daisy.

I followed wordlessly as he led her across my lawn, and to her car. He opened the door for her, and she slipped inside, offering Gatsby a kiss as she did so. His smile returned, brighter than ever, as if he was gazing into the face of an angel.

"Do you want me to take you home?" he had asked her. His voice was low, husky, a voice he had never used while around me. In return, Daisy smiled, shaking her head.

"I know it is improper for a woman to drive-and I am an exceptionally terrible driver-but I want to try."

Gatsby chuckled. "Just don't let Buchanan know."

Daisy winked. "Who?"

And with that-followed by a long kiss-she was off, leaving Gatsby and I behind, returning to the harbor, where the green light lied.

As soon as the little blue car faded away, I was suddenly trapped in a hug. Gatsby was remarkably warm against me, warm and unrelenting, like a sun. Then he drew back, a smile lighting his already radiant face, grasping my shoulders in his strong hands, and giving me a smile brighter than the one he had given when I first met him.

Because of Daisy.

Because _I _had let him be with _her._

"Old sport, I cannot thank you enough! I apologize for the contact, but I...but I...oh, thank you! Perhaps you'd like a ride in my hydroplane, or a dip in my pool, or, or-"

"Nothing." I found the word falling out of my mouth. "I want nothing."

"But I-but I-!"

I knocked his hand off my shoulder, and looked at him.

His eyes, so piercingly blue, shone with happiness that I, his friend, could never give.

"I just want you to be happy...with Daisy."

And with that, I left him standing there on my lawn, still shining like the green light.

I knew that I should have been happy for him, but I simply felt drained...and I did not know why.

* * *

A/N

So it begins. Please review~!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N

First, I suppose, a few things to note.

I will try my _damndest_ to stay as close to the book canon as possible, but I will deviate a few times, and note when I do so. For example, in the book itself, Nick states that he stayed away from Gatsby and visited Jordan while Gatsby spent time with Daisy. However, in this interpretation, I will estrange Jordan a little bit, not out of dislike, but more for the fact that I want to develop a little more of Gatsby and Nick's pre-slash bromance. It would be possible to do so as Nick spends time with Jordan, of course, but it would be much more difficult, and I myself would miss the chemistry Nick and Gatsby share. Also, as I have previously established, both Nick and Gatsby have had _no _homosexual feelings for anyone else. (That means no McKee and Nick, sorry, I just can't.) So both are very, very confused.

Anyway, let us proceed.

Disclaimer: I am but an ant kneeling before F. Scott Fitzgerald.

* * *

_An excerpt from Nick Carraway's finest and only novel: The Great Gatsby_.

_"He did not deserve to die the way he did. I know many, many who do-but never him. Never Gatsby. No matter how hard I try to scorn him, no matter how hard I try to remember him with bitterness and scorn, I can never do it. I never knew a man so pure, so hopeful, as Mr. Jay Gatsby. My fingers are shaking as I type this, my final eulogy to him, the greatest of dreamers. He did so much, he worked so hard, and yet, and yet he got only the worst in life. I tried my hardest to make him happy, and I know that I did, but our time together was too short. He worked so hard, and only for fleeting moments, one fleeting month of joy. _

_And he did not deserve to die the way he did._

_Anyone, anyone, but Jay Gatsby._

* * *

(Nick Carraway's POV)

I'm not sure why I kept going to Gatsby's house after that afternoon. I gave multiple reasons, of course, but they all went against my nature, for they were all lies.

_To air out my house of those damn flowers. To make sure that they weren't going to be caught by Tom. To see if Gatsby was doing well. To make sure my dear cousin was being treated right. To see if he was making a fool of himself again._

It was all futile, of course. He was just fine, no matter how much I managed to convince himself that he would be emberassed again. Everytime I walked in-usually unannounced, just to get their attention-they were caught in a dear, sincere lovers' embrace, and I would feel my chest tighten and my stomach turn, sometimes accompanied by the clenching of my fist, and the grinding of my jaw.

It was disgust at my cousin, of course-nothing more-and pity still, for Jay Gatsby. I loved Daisy dearly, but she had no idea how deep the devotion of Gatsby went. She was also a married woman-with a child, no less!-and had let herself fall prey to Gatsby's good looks, charm, and simple breathtaking mystery. She had let herself be caught up in the desires that all felt for him. His deep, fathomless, guarded eyes, his low, husky voice, the devotion that he gave to the ones he cared for, the adorable awkwardness he had when he felt like he was imposing, the way he went so far to ensure his friends' happiness, the mysterious way he carried himself, how untouchable he was, how charming and handome and-

-and this is getting far, far too off course. The point is, Daisy knew how deep she was getting herself in trouble by having an affair with Gatsby, and that was simply inexcusable-especially when one remembered how simply in love with her that Gatsby was. And I still felt immense pity for poor Gatsby, who fell in love with my (admittadly shallow and _undeserving!) _cousin, who was fickle, and would drop him the minute she saw no more thrill to be had with Jay Gatsby.

These were the real reasons that I returned to Gatsby's mansion, and the real reasons that I continued, even after Jordan had went to New York City a few days ago. Every day, I would walk in, and drop into the background as the observer-always the observer-while Gatsby continued to sweep my cousin off her feet with his charming words and gentle touches. All I could feel was a deep, burning pity for Gatsby, and a wondering of _why _he required Daisy to let himself be this happy. _Why _couldn't I-his closest friend-make him feel like this? I was loyal, I was always there, I was supportive and honest, I was-

Just his friend. That was all. That was all I _wanted. _I _wanted _to make him happy, _as his friend. _Now I was getting paranoid. Unfoundly paranoid! Of _course _I wanted to make him happy! I mean, Daisy was going to _leave him, _and I would be there to pick up the peices and make him happy! He was my _friend! _My _friend, _and that was all I _wanted_! Besides, even if it _wasn't, _it was horribly impossible and unrealistic. Two _men do not _get that close to one another! Not now, not ever! It was unheard of, unthinkable, and _a sin. _I was fine, normal. I had Jordan, and he had Daisy, so I was being unrealistic and paranoid. I _love him, _of course, but as a friend, or brother.

I worry far too much, as my father had always told me. I was being paranoid, that was all.

The days wore on, and still I came, always to the little tea parties shared between the three of us, where I remained an observer. I burned with anger as Gatsby would pull my dear cousin into his lap and feed her little bites of coffee cake, because I felt such immense pity for what was sure to come. I noticed the way he gave me apologetic glances, and I would merely shrug and continue to nurse my tea until the night fell, and I would escort Daisy home.

Then the day came when Daisy had to be with Tom-to "keep up appearances", she had said. I had went to Gatsby's expecting another day of being ignored, and instead found Gatsby overjoyed, cleaning his home without the aid of servants, wearing a simple dressing gown, and dusting everything with a French featherduster. I almost laughed at the ludicrous sight, but instead smiled, settling myself on one of his couches, and clearing my throat. He jumped, dropping the duster and quickly picking it up, shooting me another one of his dizzying, hopeful smiles.

"Good morning old sport! Tea time already?" he asked, walking over and sitting next to me, so close that his knee was bumping against mine as he bounced his leg. I laughed.

"What has got you in such high spirits, Gatsby?"

"Daisy is coming to one of my parties, and I must make everything perfect for her, I must! Won't you join me, old sport? I'm cleaning everything myself, everything, from top to bottom! Wait, this is splendid! You can help me, for I have no idea even where to begin!"

A laughed bubbled up warmly in my chest, and I shook my head. Gatsby would forever remain a mystery to me, no matter how much time I spent with him.

Perhaps this was the real him. I flushed, feeling privelaged to be such a close friend.

"Of course, why not? I am off today."

It was then that he embraced me, for the second time in a week. I was knocked off my feet by the suddenness of it all, and I felt my chest and cheeks glow. My heart thudded fast, but that was because I was shocked. I felt his breath on my neck, and the simple, radiant warmth of Jay Gatsby against me.

He was the sun.

All too quickly, he pulled away, and I thought I caught a slight reddening of his cheeks, but it was gone in an instant.

"Good then, old sport! Let's get to work!"

We spent the morning cleaning. Thankfully, Gatsby had gotten into a dress shirt and loose suspenders, so that we might work more efficiently. I laughed as I had to explain how to clean to him, though it was to be expected. At one point, he had the sudden urge to wash his car, despite the fact that-in my opinion-the thing already practically blinded everyone it came across.

Instead of pouring my bucket on the hood, I instead poured it on Gatsby. He blinked in surprise, then jumped and shook the water away, turning a glare at me.

"Nick!" he exclaimed, and I felt my heart thud faster. That was the first time he had called me by my name that whole summer. He gave a glare, though it seemed almost playful, but I was too caught up to notice. Was he truly mad at me?

It was then that I was hit in the face with a wet rag, and the war began.

By the time it was over, the sun was already low in the sky, and we were both laughing like schoolboys. The car had somehow remained dry the entire time.

The setting sun fell over the sound, and Gatsby was illuminated in its glow. I held my breath.

He was smiling, and it was because of _me, _not Daisy. His eyes glowed like the sky, and his hair was spun gold, like Apollo or Zeus or another great god. His skin was glowing, he was smiling, and he...

No.

And then he had laid his hand on my shoulder, smiling.

"Let's go in, old sport. Thank you."

And I nodded, and his hand lingered, burning against my wet arm.

When I returned home, I went straight to bed.

I had to stay away, this was so wrong, he was my friend, and I was normal.

I knew I was going back tomorrow.

* * *

A/N

Just fluff.


End file.
